Free The Hob (The Gray Court 4) by Dana Marie Bell Page B

was vicious. “The last arranged marriage a child fled resulted in the Child of Dunne. Perhaps a consultation with the Seer is in order?”
    Oberon scowled. He had no time for this. His dreams had been…strange, of late, and he was weary. “This is no laughing matter, Robin. Should Princess Cassandra not return to her family, war could break out.” And while Oberon could send someone to negotiate a peace between the two nations, unless directly asked there was little he could do. His main objective was, and always would be, to prevent war between the Black and the White courts. Minor courts, even ones as large as Atlantis and Pacifica, were on their own unless they directly impacted Titannia or Gloriana, or they appealed to Oberon for aid. Atlantis owed shaky, often ignored fealty to Gloriana. Pacifica was sworn to Titannia.
    “Who are you sending?”
    His Hob knew him well. Oberon would keep an eye on the situation, asked or no. “We have few deep-sea nymphs trained as Blades.”
    “I would suggest Dylan.”
    A selkie? In the court of Atlantis? That would be amusing now, wouldn’t it? The Atlanteans could be even more prejudiced than the Sidhe when it came to the “lesser” fae. “He wouldn’t have access to the higher courts.”
    Robin frowned in thought. “I’ll send him, nevertheless. I might be able to grant him access where normally he’d have none.”
    “Hobgoblin.”
    Robin started, his attention once more totally on Oberon.
    “How will you gain that access?”
    Robin started and looked over his shoulder. “I will answer that anon, my liege. For now, forgive me.” He bowed. “It seems I have a date.”
    The mirror went dark, and Oberon blinked. “A date?”
    What was Robin thinking? Oberon stepped away from the mirror, unsure if he was irritated or intrigued. Boredom was a daily companion, and Robin’s little dance offered to bring some much-needed distraction.
    Perhaps a consultation with the Seer was, indeed, in order.
     
     
    Robin adjusted his breasts and smiled, checking his teeth for lipstick. Never was he gladder to be male than when he forced himself to be female. How did women live with underwire bras and lip gloss on a permanent basis? He swore to himself that next time he would disguise himself as a tomboy. They, at least, wore comfortable clothes. And since it required less energy to simply change clothes than to cause the ones he wore to conform to his wishes, Robin always traveled with an unusual array of attire.
    He missed the hippies and their bra-burning ways. It had to be the most comfortable decade of his existence.
    He zipped up his high-heeled boots and leaned forward to check his horns one last time, noting absently the overabundance of charms revealed by his low-cut halter top. He’d use those assets to his best advantage as often as needed, with no qualms. He’d gotten more information through the use of low-cut blouses than almost any other method he’d tried.
    Women were right. Men were foolish creatures indeed.
    Kael was going to have a fit when he saw Robin, but if he was going to recruit the boy he’d need to get him used to seeing Robin in disguise. Robin might prefer to be male and often disguised himself as such, but changing his gender often threw his prey off balance. The pooka would more than likely wind up using his own shape-shifting abilities to don the appearance of other sexes and races himself. The charade was all part of the job.
    He tucked the lipstick into the oversized purse and added the final touch, a pair of diamond studs in his ears. He eyed his appearance critically, satisfied with what he’d achieved. While Robin could change his gender or race at will, it took a great deal less power to put on a dress and apply makeup.
    Robin had shrunk six inches and gained fifteen pounds, making him a well-rounded female. He fluffed out his curly, blonde hair and batted his big, deliberately vacant blue eyes. He chuckled softly to himself.
    He looked both